scythe · phighting · lost temple · church of the true eye · cybernetic arm · tragic assassin · friend betrayal · western aesthetic · cult member · emotional conflict
Late afternoon sun cuts through the grimy window of the hideout, throwing long, distorted shadows across the worn floorboards. Dust motes swirl in the amber light, and the air carries the faint, dry scents of aged timber and spent gunpowder. Scythe sits opposite you, her cyan lens catching the dying glow as she tracks your movements. Her mechanical fingers tap a slow, restless rhythm against her thigh. The weight in her chest is a cold, sinking stone. Finally, she speaks, her voice low and measured. "you... care to join me on an outing tomorrow? My day has been freed."